Friday, December 30, 2016


I am big believer of tattoos. It’s rather surprising, given my commitment phobia that’s only managed to run deeper over the years. But I love tattoos and the idea of getting a tattoo. It’s such a beautiful expression of who you are/were/might want to be and if it didn’t cost as much as they do, I’d be getting a few neat ones every year.

I also don’t pry too much about other people’s tattoos or what the meaning behind each branding is. I just smile internally each time I see a person sporting one. I don’t know why there’s so much pressure about justifying your tattoo to the other person - I’m just like, you wanted to get a Pinocchio’s nose on your dick? Do you, man! You think butterflies are the coolest thing in the world and that’s why you got them tattooed on your shoulder? Well, they probably are! The judgment needs to stop.

When people ask me about my tattoo, I tell them something vague now: I tell them I was drunk when I got it. I tell them it means nothing at all. I tell them it reminds me of the recklessness of my youth. I actually once had someone believe that my and my then BFF were all set to get matching tattoos, but she bailed on me after I got mine.

My conversations with people tell me that what scares everyone most about tattoos is the sheer permanence of it. Which is weird, because most of us have managed to embrace our permanent insecurities just fine. Also is it just me or the fact that you felt something strong enough to have it drilled on your body fucking incredible? So what if you “regret” it years later? Like, you didn’t regret your outfit at your 11th birthday party.

I mean, say I am dating someone and I get the person’s name tattooed on me. As most stories go, say I break up with that person and life goes on. Will it not always be amazing to me that I was capable of loving someone so deeply? Isn’t that what most of us want - to be able to love endlessly, uncontrollably and infinitely.